


I Get My Arrows Wholesale

by Ignisentis, OriginalCeenote



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: A smidgen of angst but mostly fluff, Archery as a flirting method, Fluff, Hard of Hearing Clint Barton, Hopeful Ending, Illustrations, M/M, Mentions of wartime injuries, Possible misuse of Forensic Accountancy, Veteran Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 14:24:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19395979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ignisentis/pseuds/Ignisentis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalCeenote/pseuds/OriginalCeenote
Summary: Bucky’s about to change his mind and leave when a man comes out of the lobby doors and looks around the street a bit before he notices Bucky. A smile spreads across his face, and hey, he’s kind of cute when he smiles. Oh, shit.The guy waves and starts walking over. “Hey, are you here for archery?”“Uh, yeah. I guess I am.”“Great! I’m Clint, the instructor.” He holds his hand out, so Bucky reaches out and shakes it. Clint’s hand is calloused and strong, and Bucky suppresses a shiver at the feel of his skin, and oh, god, he’s still shaking Clint’s hand like an asshole. He pulls his hand back sharply, which makes Clint smile even wider. Shit, he’s really cute when he smiles. This is bad.~~~~~Bucky Barnes has been stuck in a bit of a rut since he was discharged from the Army after an accident. He tries an archery for vets class, taught by an enigmatic man named Clint, to help his injured arm, but will Bucky end up with more than he bargained for?He sure will! Go get a man, Bucky!





	I Get My Arrows Wholesale

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note From Ignisentis: I want to thank OriginalCeenote for being so patient with me as I pinch-hit this fic! It's a new-to-me pairing, and I hope I've done it justice!
> 
> Please check out their ADORABLE art of Clint, Bucky, and Lucky in the park! Link is at the top of the fic. Seriously, it's super cute.
> 
> *I'm having technical issues embedding the art at the moment, but I'm going to try and get it in there!*

“I shot an arrow into the air,

It fell to earth, I knew not where;

For, so swiftly it flew, the sight

Could not follow in its flight.” 

_The Arrow and the Song_ , Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

“I shoot an arrow into the air, where it lands I do not care: I get my arrows wholesale!”

Curly Howard

**Check out the wonderful Art for this fic[here](https://flic.kr/p/2gmtLmd) **

**You can also view it embedded in the fic**

Bucky sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose and wills the numbers on his computer screen to make sense. He’s _so close_ to figuring out how this asshole embezzled so much money from his employer, but there’s one crucial piece of the puzzle that’s eluding him. His shoulder aches, and his fingertips are starting to numb, and he really just wants to solve this so he can go home and grab an ice pack.

“Yeah,” Bucky calls out to the knock on his office door. His boss, another James, steps in and tips his head up at Bucky. 

“How’s it going in here?”

Bucky sighs again, even more dramatically. “I’m so close, Rhodey. I can feel it. But I’m missing something, one stupid piece of this whole scheme, and I can’t figure it out. It’s driving me nuts.”

“Been there, man. What do you want me to tell the DA? I think he wants to try and move on this guy as soon as possible.”

“Tell him I’m close and that I’ll get back to him as soon as I figure this out. The money trail takes a jump at one point, and I don’t know what’s in that gap. As soon as I find out what’s there, I’ll be able to present my findings to DA Fury.”

“All right, I’ll tell him. And let me know if you need to bounce ideas off anyone, okay? You’ve been working hard on this case. Sometimes you just need another set of eyes on it.”

“I will, thank you. I think I’m gonna take a break, clear my head a bit. You want some coffee? Not the break room shit, but some real stuff from Java Nice Day?”

“Hell yes I want coffee from there. Something stupidly sweet. Surprise me. Or their special of the day. Whatever, just as long as it has lots of caffeine. And sugar. Thanks, Bucky.”

“Yeah, sure.” Bucky locks his computer and gets up from behind his desk to walk out with his boss. He locks his office, too — protocol so no one messes with his investigation — and heads down to the lobby of the office building. It’s a gorgeous late winter day outside, sunny but with a light breeze promising spring is just around the corner. Bucky lets his mind wander as he strolls the two blocks to Java Nice Day, trying not to think about asshole executives who steal money.

Bucky’s halfway back to the office, coffees in hand, thinking about the nature documentary he watched on Netflix last night when the solution to the asshole embezzlement problem pops into his head. Bucky freezes on the sidewalk, earning the ire of the New Yorkers behind him, and they’re not shy about letting him know.

Bucky closes his eyes and lets the numbers from his various spreadsheets fizz around in his head, holding his breath as they coalesce into the answer he was searching for. He yips excitedly and starts walking again, pointedly ignoring the stares of the people around him.

Bucky’s practically vibrating by the time he gets back to the office and hands off Rhodey’s coffee. 

“Barnes, what happened?” Rhodes asks, sipping his coffee. “Ohh, this is good.”

“I think I figured it out! I’m gonna go hole myself up in my office for a bit, but I’ll let you know what I find.”

Rhodes checks his watch before looking back up at Bucky. “I’m cautiously optimistic for you. You’ve got three hours before I have to head out for the day. I would love to be able to let Fury know he can come meet with you tomorrow before I leave.”

Bucky nods. “I think I can do that.”

Bucky rushes into Rhodes’s office ten minutes before the three hours is up and slaps a manila folder down on his boss’s desk. “I’ve got him! I’ve got the bastard!”

“Yes!!” Rhodes shouts, standing up to come around the desk and slap Bucky on his right shoulder. “I’ll call Fury right now. Stay here. I’ll put him on speaker.”

DA Fury is ecstatic to get the call, and Bucky ends up in meetings with him and his team for the next three days going over all the evidence Bucky discovered and making sure the DA and his assistants understand how to present it in court. They, in turn, do some initial prep work for when Bucky will come to court and testify. 

It’s an extremely satisfying three days, but it’s an exhausting way to end the work week. Rhodes tells him to stay home on Monday, says he’s earned the paid day off. Bucky smiles weakly and thanks his boss, locking his office before heading home for a long weekend. 

Well, a nap first. Then a long weekend.

The scent of food cooking is thick in the air when Bucky wakes up. He groans and rubs the sleep out of his eyes before getting up and making his way into the apartment’s kitchen. Steve’s in there humming to himself as he stirs some sort of sauce. It smells spicy and delicious.

“Hey, there, Sleeping Beauty,” Steve quips without turning around. Bucky grunts and goes over to the fridge to pull out ingredients for a salad. He might as well help since he’s awake now. “Long day at work?”

“Yeah,” Bucky croaks. He clears his throat before continuing. “Well, long week, really. I solved a case and was in meetings with the DA and his team for the rest of the week. Rhodes gave me Monday off, though.”

“Hey, congratulations, Bucky! That’s awesome!”

“I’ll give you all the juicy details once the guy is behind bars because this case is a doozy. You’re gonna want to know.”

Steve chuckles and goes back to stirring the sauce. “Can’t wait. Any plans for your big weekend off?”

“Catch up on some sleep, mostly.”

“Sam and I are meeting up with some other friends tomorrow night for dinner and drinks, if you want to join.”

“Ugh, pass. I don’t need to spend any more time around you and your stupid boyfriend than I absolutely need to.”

Steve laughs and reaches over to shove Bucky. Bucky laughs back and continues cutting vegetables for their salad. Sam and Steve have been together for a couple years now, and Bucky thinks the guy is sickeningly perfect for Steve. He likes him a lot, but he likes messing with the two of them even more. Privately he thinks that Steve and Sam would be married or at least living together by now if it weren’t for him. Sam’s a vet, too, and he’s been nothing but patient and understanding, but Bucky still feels bad sometimes.

There’s a knock on the apartment door before someone keys in and opens the door. It must be Sam since he’s the only other person besides Steve and Bucky that have a key to their place. 

“Oh, something smells GOOD!” Sam shouts as he hangs up his coat and pulls off his shoes. Bucky smiles at Steve and rolls his eyes, grabbing the spoon from Steve to keep stirring the sauce to Steve can go welcome his man properly.

Dinner’s amazing, as it always is when it’s Steve’s turn to cook. Bucky’s slowly getting better, and cooking is surprisingly good fine-motor-skill therapy for his arm, but Steve is still a way better chef than he is. Bucky’s happy to let Steve cook whenever he wants, and tonight is no exception.

Some good food and a few beers later, Bucky’s feeling more relaxed than he has all week. He didn’t realize how much he needed to cut loose a bit, just get out of his head and the case that he hadn’t been able to leave at work. The three of them talk and joke around for hours.

It’s well past midnight when Sam yawns, groaning as he stretches his arms over his head. Steve takes the opportunity to pinch the sliver of skin the motion reveals, and Sam squeals before launching a tickle counterattack.

“Aaaaaaaaaand that’s my cue. Goodnight, and please don’t stain the couch,” Bucky jokes as he beats a hasty retreat to his room and breaks out his noise-cancelling headphones.

Bucky wakes from a nightmare a few hours later and goes to the kitchen for a glass of water. He decides he’s peckish, too, and slices up an apple and some cheese and takes that back to his room to nibble on. It takes a while to fall back asleep once he’s eaten his snack, the remnants of the nightmare lingering in his mind. It’s the same one he always has: he’s falling, people are screaming, then there’s fire and pain and blood on sand. 

It’s close to noon by the time he wakes again and stumbles out to the kitchen, snack plate in hand. He rinses it and puts it in the sink, because he’s a good roommate like that, sighing happily when he sees that Steve left some coffee in the carafe. He heats some leftovers for lunch and goes to sit at their little table. There’s a pamphlet resting there, bold purple letters on a black background. Bucky picks it up to read it and frowns at the contents. He sets it aside and finishes his lunch before getting up to rinse his dishes and find Steve, the offending pamphlet in hand.

“What the hell is this?” he snarls at Steve when he finds him at his desk.

“What?” Steve pulls out his earbuds. “What did you say?”

“I said ‘what the hell is this’? Is this you or Sam?”

Steve glances at the pamphlet Bucky’s shoved in his face. “Oh, you found it. Sam saw it at — ”

“Don’t you try and manage me, Steve!” Bucky hisses, his voice raising.

“Let me fucking finish, Bucky!” Steve stands up from his desk and crosses his arms to mirror Bucky’s stance, and Bucky straightens his spine as he feels his heart start racing. Damn it, but he _hates_ it when Steve and Sam conspire behind his back to try and run his life or solve his problems or treat him like he’s some sort of invalid just because his arm doesn’t work like it used to.

“Fine,” Bucky grunts.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Like I was trying to say, Sam found this at the VA and thought you might be interested — unclench your jaw, I can see you grinding your teeth from over here.”

Bucky huffs but does as Steve asks because he really doesn’t want to fuck up his teeth.

“It’s an archery course for vets taught by some guy named Clint. Sam says he’s a little flighty but on the up-and-up, does some work with the VA, either served or still does. He’s a little cagey about that part.”

“Spec ops?”

“Maybe, yeah. Doesn’t seem the type, but who knows? Anyway, I mentioned to Sam that you were having trouble with your PT exercises because they’re getting boring, and your job is really eating up your time, so when he saw this, we both thought that it would be good for building up your arm muscles and stretching them and stuff. But in a fun way, you know? And in like a no-pressure environment. Clint’s been around vets, he knows what’s what. He’s not going to make this class anything but fun. Anyway, just look at it and at least think about it, okay?”

“Fine,” Bucky grits out. He crumples the pamphlet a bit on principle. Steve rolls his eyes again and huffs before turning around to sit back at his desk.

Bucky goes over to the couch and grabs the remote, tossing the pamphlet on the coffee table before settling in for some Netflix time. There’s a whole season of The Great British Baking Show with his name on it.

It’s Bread Week when he finally gives in and picks up the pamphlet. Sam and Steve aren’t wrong, the class _does_ look pretty cool. Maybe he’ll give it a try. On cue, his shoulder starts to ache, so he does a few stretches before going to grab his ice wrap from the freezer.

Bucky jumps an hour later when Steve puts a cold bottle of beer against the back of his neck. 

“You fucker!”

Steve cackles and tucks the bottle over Bucky’s left shoulder, already open. Bucky grunts his thanks and takes it with his right hand. He takes a long sip while Steve comes around to sit down on the couch. They’re both silent for a while, just listening to the soothing sounds of panicked bakers.

Bucky can see Steve’s eyes flicking to the pamphlet every so often. He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something before thinking better of it, sighing at himself. He’s really trying today.

And the thing is — the thing _is,_ he’s _always_ trying. He has been since they met when Steve was 6 and Bucky was 7 and some bigger kids pushed Steve down and Bucky came over to yell at them, and Steve smiled at him and asked if he wanted to be friends. He has been since Bucky told him he was enlisting and a look of pure terror washed across Steve’s face before he asked how he could support his best friend. When he came out as a teenager and Steve hugged him and came out, too; when his mom got sick, when Bucky’s parents split up, when Bucky’s prom date ditched him at prom and broke his heart.

When Bucky was in basic. When he went to sniper school. When he finally got downrange only to have his helicopter shot out of the sky three weeks later. When he woke up in a hospital in Germany a week later with a severely burned, nerve-damaged left arm that would mean a Purple Heart, a lifetime of physical therapy, and an honorable discharge before he’d ever fired his rifle.

When Bucky came home and needed a place to stay and Steve took him in no questions asked. When the nightmares were bad. When he decided to go to school and become a forensic accountant. When his shoulder ached. When he broke down and sobbed about his guilt over his soldier friends who were in the chopper but didn’t come home. 

Bucky’s always, always been lucky when it comes to Steve, and he knows it. He fucking knows it in the very marrow of his bones. He doesn’t know where he would be right now if it weren’t for Steve. And yeah, he hates it when people try to run his life — he does gets the irony of the Army as a first career choice. But he also knows that Steve, and now Sam, have his best interests at heart and genuinely want to see him happy, to see him thrive. They’ve been more patient than he deserves, honestly. Especially when he snaps at them when they’re just trying to help.

“Hey,” Bucky says, keeping his eyes on the TV. Steve hums back. “I’m sorry. You know, for getting upset earlier.”

“It’s okay.”

Bucky sighs. “No, it’s not. You and Sam were only trying to help. And you both have been really great, honestly, in giving me space when I need and not being overbearing and shit. So I shouldn’t take it out on you.”

“Yeah, well, guess it’s a good thing I’m so stubborn, huh?” Steve smiles at Bucky as he gives him the conversation out. Bucky decides not to take it for once.

“It is, actually. Sometimes I need space, and sometimes I need a little kick in the ass, and you’ve been surprisingly good at figuring out which is which. I’m glad you’re my friend, Steve.”

Steve looks at Bucky, gratitude written all over his face, before turning toward the TV again to try and hide his feelings. This is the most Bucky’s ever acknowledged what Steve’s done for him, and he can tell that Steve’s not really sure how to take it. Bucky helps him out by reaching over and shoving Steve into the end of the couch.

Steve laughs and slaps at Bucky’s arm. “You punk!” They go back to watching the bakers fret over pastries, the silence comfortable between them.

It takes Bucky three weeks to work up the nerve to actually go to the damn archery class. When he gets to the building, he has to check the address again because there’s no way this is the right place. It’s a smallish apartment building in Bed-Stuy, on a street not yet touched by the area’s gentrification, but that’s probably not too far off, sadly. Just seems like an odd place to teach archery.

Bucky’s about to change his mind and leave when a man comes out of the lobby doors and looks around the street a bit before he notices Bucky. A smile spreads across his face, and hey, he’s kind of cute when he smiles. Oh, shit.

The guy waves and starts walking over. “Hey, are you here for archery?”

“Uh, yeah. I guess I am.” 

“Great! I’m Clint, the instructor.” He holds his hand out, so Bucky reaches out and shakes it. Clint’s hand is calloused and strong, and Bucky suppresses a shiver at the feel of his skin, and oh, god, he’s still shaking Clint’s hand like an asshole. He pulls his hand back sharply, which makes Clint smile even wider. Shit, he’s _really_ cute when he smiles. This is bad.

“And you are?” Clint prompts gently, and Bucky feels his cheeks redden as he croaks out a “Bucky. It’s Bucky.”

“Nice to meet you, Bucky. Why don’t we head into the lobby and meet the rest of the class?”

“Uh, sure. Yeah.” Bucky closes his eyes and sighs at himself when Clint turns away to lead Bucky to the lobby, and when he opens them again, he can see Clint’s hearing aid nestled in his ear. It must be really state-of-the-art because it’s almost invisible unless you’re looking straight at it from the side. Bucky hadn’t even noticed it from the front, and he’s a trained sniper; he’s good at spotting the small details.

Clint stops and turns back toward Bucky when he realizes he’s not following, tilting his head a bit. “Oh, sorry,” Bucky says as he finally makes his legs work and starts following Clint.

“No problem, man,” Clint says, easy as pie. If he’s noticed what a complete disaster Bucky’s been, he’s really good at pretending otherwise. Bucky’s not sure if that makes him feel better or worse about the whole thing.

“So, is this your first archery class?” Clint asks.

“Um, yeah, it is.”

“Cool, that’s cool. It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me yet, but what brought you — shit!” Clint stumbles over a crack on the sidewalk and only manages not to fall via a, frankly, incredible sort of twisting parkour-style move. 

“Oh, man! That was a close one” Clint’s beaming and chuckling at himself, and Bucky can’t help but smile back. Maybe he’s not the only disaster here after all.

There are three other people in Clint’s archery class, and all of them have been there before, so Clint decides he’ll just take them to the range and catch Bucky up there. The range ends up being in the basement of the building, which is an incredible space; the ceiling is over fifteen feet high, and it runs the length of the building. There’s a sort of entry area with a rack of bows and a bunch of quivers full of arrows, a table with six chairs stuffed around it. There’s a door next to the bow rack that has a bathroom sign on it.

One side of the entry room has a wall that’s just glass and overlooks the actual archery range. There are a dozen individual shooting stalls with a sort of counter, just like in every other firing range Bucky has been in, but the targets sit on the ground and are giant bull’s-eyes in purple and black. 

“Okay, those of you who’ve been here before, you know the drill. Get your gear and find a stall and I’ll check you before you start shooting. Bucky, you’re with me, please. I have a few forms for you to sign and some safety information to go over, blah blah, liability, blah.”

Bucky snorts and sits at the table when Clint gestures toward it. He goes into an office and grabs some pens and an information packet, along with a few loose forms. Bucky reads through the packet and signs the forms.

Clint comes back after making sure the rest of the class is properly kitted and ready to start shooting their arrows. There’s a cool mixture of modern-style bows and traditional ones on the weapon rack, and it seems like the students have chosen a mixture for themselves, too.

Clint lets Bucky watch for a bit before breaking into his reverie. “The modern bows make it marginally easier to shoot, but there’s something primally satisfying about using an old-school one. You’ll see.”

Bucky nods and quirks a smile because he’s actually finding himself excited about this archery stuff now that he’s here. 

“Let’s go over the safety and information packet first, okay?” Bucky nods, and Clint gets into it.

Once that’s over, Clint takes a minute to go check on his other students, correcting their form when necessary, before coming back to the table. 

“Okay,” he says seriously, “now the big question: why are you here in my class? What are you hoping to gain from it?”

“Uhhhh…” Bucky blanks.

“I only ask because it’s going to help me find the right bow to start you with, help me figure out your best progression through the class. It’s okay if the answer is just ‘it sounded cool,’ okay? There’s no wrong answer here. And I hope this goes without saying, but I’m gonna say it anyway: whatever you say stays between us. The rest of the class doesn’t need to know.”

Bucky nods and exhales sharply as he gathers his thoughts. “Um, obviously I’m a vet. Army. I trained as a sniper, and there was this accident. Crash. Anyway, my shooting arm got all fucked up, and it’s still a work in progress. My friends thought maybe this class could be a way to help with some strengthening that would be more fun than the usual PT exercises. So. Here I am.”

Clint nods and reaches out to gently place a hand on Bucky’s forearm. “Thanks for telling me.” Bucky swallows back the sudden emotion that rises in his throat. Fuck, he barely knows this guy. Why is his kindness getting him all choked up?

“So, a sniper. You’ll want the challenge of the old-school bows, then. Let’s start with some of the looser-strung ones and see how your draw strength progresses. Your friend wasn’t wrong about this being good PT. It’s gonna help with a lot of upper body muscles, and with stretching and stuff. Sound good?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it does.”

Clint smiles and pulls his hand back. “Great! Let’s go find you a bow.”

Bucky’s slightly frustrated that he ends up with the second-loosest strung. Clint rolls his eyes good-naturedly and tells him to stuff it. Bucky surprises himself by laughing at that and follows Clint to a shooting stall.

Clint helps Bucky with his posture, and his shooting form, standing behind Bucky and gently adjusting his elbows or pressing his shoulder down so it’s not too high. He’s close, so close, way too close, but it feels _really_ good to have a solid body behind him, to have hands on him, and Bucky finds himself paying more attention to the proximity of Clint’s body than he does his bow and arrow.

Which becomes embarrassingly apparent when his first shot barely makes it halfway down the range. Bucky swears and feels his cheeks heat up. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

Clint snorts and leans in closer to whisper in Bucky’s ear, “you okay there?” Bucky whimpers softly as arousal pools low in his belly. 

“I think you should stay after class for some extra instruction. Don’t you?” Bucky grunts and nods his head. 

Clint steps back, trailing a reassuring hand down Bucky’s side as he goes. “Okay, nock another arrow and let’s try again.”

Bucky’s not sure how he survives the rest of the class, but he makes it through somehow. Then everyone else leaves, and it’s just him and Clint again, and Bucky can feel his dick twitch in anticipation.

“Why don’t you show me what you’ve learned today?” Clint says around a smirk. Bucky rolls his eyes and flicks Clint off, which makes him laugh. Bucky raises an eyebrow and walks back to the shooting stall. He looks back over his shoulder and catches Clint staring at his ass. 

He’s _definitely_ glad he came to this class.

Bucky shoots a couple of arrows as sexily as he can, which is to say not very because archery is actually a lot harder than it looks, but he’s gonna work with what he’s got at the moment. Joke’s on himself, too, because he really did improve leaps and bounds during just one class. He’s hitting the third ring from the Bull’s-eye more often than not, sometimes even closer than that. He thinks maybe in a few classes he’ll start hitting dead center, even.

Bucky feels himself getting into the same sort of zone he used to when lining up a shot during sniper school, the rest of the world falling away until there’s nothing but Bucky and a target. He lets himself sink into it, to feel his muscles and his tendons and his bones alight with the joy of it. Nock, draw, fire. Nock, draw, fire. Again and again and again.

Bucky doesn’t surface until he runs out of arrows, his target full of them. He didn’t miss one shot in the entire quiver. Elation zips through his body, and he turns to find Clint to show him. Bucky’s eyes widen when he sees Clint because Clint looks like he wants to _devour_ Bucky. Bucky tilts his head back slightly as Clint stalks over, a fresh quiver in hand. He trails his hand across Bucky’s shoulders then pushes to turn Bucky back toward the range, slotting his body in behind Bucky as he hands him an arrow.

Clint leans in close, lowering his voice to say, “nock.” Bucky shivers and does, drawing the bow back and taking aim. He pauses and gets his breathing under control before letting the arrow loose. It hits the target.

“God, look at you, you’re a natural,” Clint breathes, handing Bucky another arrow. They work through the entire quiver like that, Clint whispering in Bucky’s ear and offering gentle corrections on his form. Bucky’s somehow manages not to combust on the spot, but it’s a close thing.

When the quiver is finally empty, Clint steps back and tilts his head toward the quite-full target on the range. He pulls up the shooting counter, and Bucky follows him to pull his arrows and refill the quivers.

Clint escorts him back up to the building’s lobby after they shelve the bow and quivers. Bucky pauses, wanting to say something but not sure what.

“That was — I mean, I had a — ”

“I’ll see you next week at class, yeah?” Clint interrupts with a smile, running his hand down Bucky’s left arm.

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes. “You will.”

The second class goes pretty much exactly the same way. So does the third. Bucky’s sure he’s got enough jerk-off material to last the rest of his _life_. He knows there’s something there between him and Clint, but he doesn’t know why the guy hasn’t said anything or taken the next step. He’s starting to wonder if maybe he’s misjudged the situation.

Steve and Sam manage to drag him out for drinks and a disgusting amount of fried appetizers Friday after they’re all done with work. He catches the two of them exchanging A Look an hour into the evening.

“What?” he grouses, rolling his eyes.

“Nothing,” Steve says way too quickly. Sam elbows him.

“Subtle, Steve,” he hisses.

“Just tell me, please,” Bucky sighs.

“Well...it’s just...is everything okay? With you? You seemed really happy for a while after you started that archery class, but even that doesn’t seem to be helping like it used to. So are you okay? Is there something we can do?”

Bucky softens as he looks at Steve. He and Sam are a pain in the ass sometimes, but they really do love him and want the best for him.

“No, nothing’s wrong. Well. I mean...Okay, so there’s this guy.”

“Ooh, a guy!” Sam smiles widely and wiggles in his chair.

“What are you, twelve?” Bucky grins back and throws a french fry at Sam.

“Look who’s talking, Mr. Trying To Start A Food Fight To Avoid Talking About His Love Life!”

“Oh, hey, good idea,” Bucky says, reaching for more fries.

“Bucky! Sam! Knock it off and tell us about this guy already,” Steve gripes goodnaturedly.

“All right, all right. His name is Clint, and he’s in my archery class. Well, no, he teaches my archery class.”

“Ooooh, Bucky’s hot for teacher!” Steve teases.

“Fuck off!” Bucky retorts. “Anyway, he’s pretty cute, especially when he smiles, and he’s a really great archer and an amazing teacher. He’s been super helpful with my arm and making sure I’m comfortable but also feeling challenged. But he doesn’t take any shit or let me like pity myself. He has hearing aids, so I think that helps some. As in, he knows how it feels when people treat him differently because of his disability. I don’t know.”

“He sounds like a good guy,” Sam says when Bucky trails off.

“He is.” Bucky smiles a little lopsided smile thinking about how good he feels when Clint is around. It’s like little bubbles under his skin. But the fun tickling kind, not the bends kind. Bucky frowns a bit and decides he needs to adjust his metaphor somewhat.

“Why so down, then?” Steve asks. “This all sounds really promising.”

“Right? It is! And I haven’t even told you the best part yet: he’s totally flirting with me! Me! Like all the time! And the first week I went, I was the only newbie, so he had me stay after class for some ‘extra instruction,’ and it was definitely just an excuse to stand behind me and whisper instructions in my ear and put his hands on me to correct my shooting form. And maybe, possibly, there was a tiny bit of grinding up on.”

“Sounds hot,” Sam says, wiggling his shoulders a bit for comedic effect.

“It super was! I was 100% into it. And the same thing happened the second week of class. The third, too.”

“So what exactly is the problem? He sounds way into you.”

“The problem is he hasn’t asked me out yet! Or asked for my number! Or anything!”

“Well, have you asked him?” Steve counters.

Bucky sits back in his chair and blinks at Steve. “...No.”

Sam chuckles while Steve groans at Bucky. “If he’s your instructor, he may be waiting for you to take the next step just in case he’s reading into the situation wrong. Or he wants to make sure you feel like you have an out and that he won’t hold it against you in class if you say no to a date,” Sam points out.

Steve nods. “Power imbalance.”

“It’s literally a volunteer archery class for vets, guys.”

“Still.”

“So, what, I should just ask him out at the next class?”

“You definitely should,” Sam encourages.

“I can’t do that!”

“Why not?”

“What if he says no?”

“He’s not gonna say no, Buck,” Steve says.

“I’m a disaster! I shouldn’t be dating anyone!”

“A, you’re not a disaster. And B, it’s one date.” Steve says, frowning at Bucky. “And C, you should see your face when you talk about him. You look like a complete lovestruck goofball.”

“I’m not in _love_ with the guy. I barely know him.”

“So get to know him.”

“But what if I put myself out there and he says no?” Bucky whispers.

“Then he says no and you find a new hobby and you try again with someone else. But he’s not gonna say no. He’s not.”

“Just ask him to coffee,” Sam suggests. “You can do this.”

“Okay, yeah. Coffee. I can do this. I can do this!!!”

“I can’t do this,” Bucky whispers to himself.

“Can’t do what?” Clint asks, smiling at Bucky from across the room where he’s putting back Bucky’s bow and a quiver of arrows, cleaning up from their after-class session.

“Uh…” Bucky swallows down the rising panic, his heart rate climbing, and wipes his suddenly sweaty palms on his pants. Clint’s all the way across the room, and Bucky didn’t expect him to actually hear that, and was hoping for a bit more time to work up the nerve to — _wait,_ Bucky thinks as his brain comes back online. _How_ did _Clint hear him?_

“How did you hear that? I’m all the way across the room, and I whispered.”

“Oh, um, sorry.” Clint taps his hearing aids. “These didn’t always work as well as they do now, and I learned to read lips to help compensate. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“No, no, it’s okay. That’s pretty cool, actually.”

“Want to test it out? Tell me about what you can’t do. You don’t even have to look me in the eye, just keep your face toward me. Maybe it will be easier that way, won’t feel so intimidating. And then I can help you figure out your problem.”

Bucky smiles fondly at Clint. He’s so sweet, always willing to help. Bucky really, really likes him. The thought gives him the courage to look Clint in the eyes and say, “you want to get coffee with me sometime?”

Clint is still smiling softly at Bucky when he starts speaking, but Bucky can tell the exact moment he realizes just what Bucky’s asked because his smile widens and reaches his eyes. He walks over to Bucky and cups his face and kisses him gently, a short soft little thing, before stepping back a bit.

“Thank fuck, I was starting to think I had badly misread this whole situation.”

Bucky barks out a laugh and swats Clint on the arm. “You could have asked me out yourself, you ass!”

“I’m your instructor! I didn’t want to make it weird for you in case I was wrong!”

“And grinding up on me after class isn’t making it weird?”

“...That’s a fair point.”

Bucky laughs again and rolls his eyes. “So, coffee?”

“Yeah. Next week after class? I’d love to sooner, but I have a work thing that’s keeping me busy.”

“Next week after class sounds perfect.”

“It’s a date, then, Bucky.”

Bucky shivers a bit and smiles. “It’s a date.”

Steve and Sam are snuggled up together on the couch watching a movie when Bucky gets back to the apartment. They’re so cute together, it’s disgusting. Bucky’s so happy for them. He walks around the front of the couch and blocks their view, drawing laughter out of Steve and a “hey!” from Sam.

Bucky raises both of his fists into the air and says, “I have a date!!!”

Sam pauses the movie, and both he and Steve whoop and jump up off the couch to high five and hug Bucky. The three of them dance around like idiots for a bit, saying stupid shit like “oh, yeah!” and “go get your man, Bucky!” and “gonna get some action,” and it’s ridiculous and fun, and Bucky hasn’t laughed this hard in months. Years, maybe. He feels light and finds himself wanting to hold onto the feeling.

It lasts for the whole week. He gets a ton done at work, and he can tell Rhodey wants to say something about how happy Bucky’s been but also doesn’t want to jinx it for him or make him feel uncomfortable, so he settles for nodding his head and patting Bucky on the shoulder a lot. He spends time with Sam and Steve and doesn’t lose his temper once. He does all his laundry and even puts it away instead of leaving it to wrinkle in the basket for a couple of weeks. He does all his PT exercises every day, and they really do help his arm feel better, so he kicks himself a little bit for not doing them regularly. But then he’s immediately gentle with himself instead of letting his negative thoughts send him into a spiral.

It’s the best week he’s had since he got back to New York. Which is why it sucks so bad when he gets to archery class the day of his date and there’s a sign taped to the basement door saying class is cancelled. The rest of his classmates grumble a bit before deciding to go grab some coffee since they’re already out, and part of Bucky wants to go home and crawl under the covers and lick his wounds. But he knows it’s silly to hang so much of his recent improvement on Clint, that he should be doing better because he wants to for himself. So he says yes and heads to the same coffee place he and Clint probably would have gone to for their date. 

He’s disappointed, yeah, but he ends up having a good time. His classmates tease him for dating the teacher, and he explains they aren’t dating yet, that they were supposed to today after class, and everyone else is surprisingly sympathetic and kind about it. A woman named Carol, an Air Force vet, tells Bucky to keep his head up and not let this get him down. She also asks if he wants her to tell Clint off on his behalf, and Bucky laughs her off but thanks her all the same.

Talk turns to their respective military service, and how they’ve been readjusting, and then to other topics, and before he knows it, two hours have passed and he has three new friends. Carol claps him on the back and wishes him luck with Clint as they head out of the coffee shop. Bucky grunts, because Carol is _strong_ , and waves goodbye before walking to the nearest subway station and heading home.

Halfway through the week, Bucky realizes he never actually gave Clint his number, and he never got Clint’s number, either. Which sucks because he wants to know if they’re on for coffee after the next archery class. He’ll have to just wait and see and hope for the best.

When he shows up for class later that week, the “Class is Cancelled” sign is still hanging on the door. Bucky goes home and crawls under the covers and lets himself wallow. He sleeps for a few hours, emerging from his room groggy and wrapped in his coziest blanket. Steve takes one look at him and stops whatever crime procedural he’s watching and queues up The Great British Baking Show. Bucky flops down on the couch dramatically and grunts his thanks to Steve.

“Want to talk about it?” Steve asks two episodes later.

Bucky sighs and shifts around on the couch for a minute before answering. “Clint and I were supposed to go out for coffee after class last week, but class was cancelled. So I figured we’d try again today, but class was cancelled again today, too.”

Steve hums at that and waits for Bucky to continue.

“We never exchanged numbers, so I have no way of contacting him. I think he realized what a disaster I am and changed his mind about wanting to date me,” Bucky grumps.

“That is definitely one way of looking at it.”

“Ugh.”

“I don’t think that’s the _only_ way of looking at it, though.”

“I said ‘ugh,’ Steve.” 

“So you really think after all that archery foreplay, and after accepting a date with you, Clint changed his mind and instead of telling you at class, he cancelled two weeks in a row to avoid talking to you?”

“UGH!”

“I’m gonna take that as a no.”

“It does sound stupid when you put it like that.”

“It’s okay to be disappointed, Buck. But is there anything else you can think of that may have happened instead? Has he told you what he does for work?”

Bucky shakes his head. “No, but Sam and I thought maybe he was spec ops or something, so maybe he’s away on some mission and just isn’t in town.”

“That seems more likely than him ghosting you. And the rest of the class.”

“Or maybe he had a family emergency.”

“Could be that.”

“I’m still gonna wallow for a bit, though.”

“Yeah, pal. I don’t blame you.” Steve reaches over and pats Bucky’s leg a few times. “Want me to order pizza?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

The next day dawns sunny and clear, one of those gorgeous spring days where the sky is so blue, the sun bright, with a little chill in the air on the breeze. Bucky decides he wants to spend it outdoors and invites Steve and Sam to go to the park with him. They have plans and have to decline, so Bucky heads out by himself.

The park is full of people out enjoying the day, and Bucky’s having a nice, slow stroll and people watching. He and Steve used to love coming to the park as kids and making up stories about the people they saw there, getting more and more outrageous as the day went on. Bucky finds himself slipping into the old habit as he walks.

He’s deep into a story about a woman with red hair who outwardly is a stay-at-home mom but secretly is a spy when something large bowls into his legs and knocks him to the ground. And then proceeds to lick his face.

“Ew, dog!” Bucky laughs and tries to gently push the offending animal off his face, but that just makes the dog even happier. It flops itself down across Bucky’s chest and wiggles happily, tail wagging. It can reach Bucky’s face even easier now and lets out a happy little whuff and goes back to slobbering on Bucky.

Bucky’s laughing when he hears an exasperated, “Lucky, no! Leave him alone!”

The dog — Lucky, apparently — huffs and hauls itself off Bucky, waddling back to its owner. Bucky sits up, the smile falling off his face when he sees who the dog belongs to.

“Bucky! Hey! Hi. I didn’t expect to see you here,” Clint says as he pats Lucky’s head.

“Uh, yeah. It’s a nice day, so. Anyway, I’ll just be going.” Bucky feels like an idiot as he pushes himself to his feet. His stomach is fluttering, and he simultaneously wants to yell at Clint for standing him up and wait to see what he has to say about it.

“Wait, please! I’m so sorry I had to cancel class. Twice. And miss our date. I had a work thing and had to leave the country last-minute for like two weeks, and I realized after the fact that I didn’t have your number to call you or text you and let you know where I was going, and then I felt really bad about it when I got back, but I STILL didn’t have your number, and I’m gonna stop talking now because I’m rambling. Please say you’ll give me another chance. I really like you. And I definitely want to date you. Okay, NOW I’m going to stop talking. For real this time. Oh, God, _please_ say something and stop me already.”

Bucky’s smile had widened and widened with every word out of Clint’s mouth. He laughs when Clint finally stops and rolls his eyes at him, not unkindly. 

“My number was in my paperwork when I signed up for the archery class. You could have gotten it from there.”

“I…” Clint basically blue screens, and Bucky laughs again at the look on his face. 

“It’s okay, Clint. I didn’t really think about it until just now, either.”

“Oh, thank god.”

“Does this happen often?”

“What, me being an idiot? Unfortunately, yes.”

Bucky snorts. “I meant you having to leave town on short notice.”

“Also unfortunately yes. But maybe if I have your number next time I can at least let you know?” Clint asks, hopeful.

Bucky hums and thinks about it, his mouth tilted up in a quirk. “Hmm, I don’t know…”

Clint smiles back at Bucky. “Why don’t you join Lucky and me for our pizza picnic while you think about it some more.”

“What’s a pizza picnic?”

“It’s where you bring a pizza to the park and eat it for your picnic. It’s awesome. Lucky loves pizza, so we do it all the time.”

Bucky laughs when Lucky barks at his name. “That sounds fun, actually. Yeah, I’d love to join.”

The pizza is delicious, cheesy and greasy and perfect. Lucky eats two pieces and steals Bucky’s crust right out of his hand. Clint reprimands him, but the dog is so darn loveable that Bucky finds he doesn’t really mind. 

The pizza is long gone, and Lucky is asleep at Clint’s feet when Bucky’s phone buzzes. He pulls it out to check the text real quick, and it’s only then he realizes he and Clint have been sitting on a park bench for hours, just talking and getting to know each other. They’ve been there all afternoon, and Steve is checking in to see if Bucky is coming home for dinner. 

“Shit,” Bucky says when he realizes the time. “I need to get home.”

“Yeah, I should head out, too. I had a really great time today. I’m so glad we ran into you.”

“Me too.”

“So, um, can I take you to dinner sometime this week?”

Bucky smiles and leans over to kiss Clint softly. “I’d like that.” Bucky still has his phone in his hand and unlocks it, opening his contacts for Clint. “Why don’t you give me your number and I’ll text you and we can work out the details?”

“Awesome,” Clint says around a smile. He types in his info and hands Bucky back his phone. 

Bucky opens up a text and sends it to Clint. “Now you’ve got mine.”

“Double awesome.”

Bucky blushes a bit and ducks his head down. He stands up and Clint pops to his feet, too. Lucky lifts his head to see what the commotion is about. He huffs, deciding it’s not worth getting up, too, and puts his head back down to sleep some more.

“Lazy dog,” Clint chides as Bucky chuckles.

“Aw, he’s a good boy.”

“Yeah, he is.”

“So, I’ll see you later this week?” Bucky asks, hopeful.

“You will,” Clint responds surely.

Bucky’s still nervous later that week. He’d gotten to the restaurant early and has been sitting at their table checking his phone every few minutes in case Clint’s cancelled again, his leg bouncing under the table. Clint’s not even late yet. It’s just that Bucky really wants this to work out, and Clint’s already kind of stood him up already, even if it wasn’t really his fault, and great, now Bucky’s rambling in his own head. This is going to be a disaster.

Bucky closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths and tries to stop himself from getting too worked up, though maybe that ship has sailed by this point. 

“Is this seat taken?”

Bucky whips his head up to see Clint standing at their table, a fond look on his face. Bucky smiles up at him and exhales sharply. Clint smiles back and sits down. Bucky feels his stomach switch from nervous to excited, the feeling fizzing through to his limbs. He ducks his head as his smile widens, and he lets himself be happy.


End file.
